Centennial
by XiaoDui
Summary: There is a thin line between love and hate, and hate itself is not the opposite of love. DannyDash for the 100 Themes Challenge.
1. Introduction

When Dash first meets Danny, it's the summer before freshman year.

All he knows is that he _doesn't_ know this kid. This scrawny, thin brunet with the brilliant sapphire eyes is unknown, new and different. A myriad of questions wrapped up in a living, breathing answer.

He thinks that the boy would have been popular, if the Foley kid hadn't found him first. It's obvious just by looking at him that the brunet has that odd witty banter that isn't funny but isn't _not_ funny, and he certainly has the looks for the A-list crowd. Yet, as he sits in the Nasty Burger and watches him interact with the "techno-geek", he's glad the guy found him first.

Because if he hadn't, he would have had to go up to him and say hello.

He can't.

Not when he's finally at the top of the social hierarchy. Not when he's finally achieved everything his father wants from him. Not if he wants his father to stay happy.

Because Baxters simply do not associate with those beneath them, as this brunet has placed himself through Foley. Because the Baxters are the best of the best, and everyone looks to them as an example. Because Baxters cannot be seen with the "trash" of the city, and especially not after having been the one to approach said "trash".

He knows he should be surprised when the kid approaches him first. He knows the boy's feeling the same strange pull that he is, but unlike him the kid allows it. Unlike him, the kid can allow it.

_Hi_, he says in that adolescent tone of teenagers. _I'm Danny, Danny Fenton._

Danny.

Danny is grinning at him, waiting for his name in return.

He forces his face into a sneer. _So what?_

The grin freezes into place, then falters slightly.

_Outta my way, Fen-turd._

As he leaves, the grin is gone, and Dash can only close his eyes.


	2. Complicated

From the start, it was complicated.

Danny knows this. He's known it since that hot summer day he tried to introduce himself to the blond in that fast-food restaurant. He's known it since he met that same blond again on the first day of high school.

It's complicated in a way that, when Dash shoves him in his locker and shuts the door, he's mad but he isn't.

It's complicated in a way that, when Dash's fist hits his stomach where the bruise won't show, it hurts but it doesn't.

It's complicated in a way that, when Dash's fingers first curl in his tee-shirt's collar, before that punch or the slam of the locker door, everything else almost fades away. Almost.

It's complicated in a way that he doesn't know why Dash hates him so much.

It's complicated in a way that he's not sure Dash hates him at all.

It's complicated in a way that he's not even sure if he hates Dash, either.

He knows this.

He also knows that it doesn't make it any less complicated.

It doesn't make it hurt any less, either.


	3. Making History

Dash scowls to himself when Lancer begins passing back the pieces of lined paper, the essays the class had written the day before. There's no markings on the one set on his desk - a quick glance around shows he's not the only one with a page free of red ink.  
In fact, it looks like no one has any kind of markings on their scribbled thoughts.

His gut twinges forebodingly, and he thinks he knows where this might be heading.

_As you all know_, Lancer begins once the bell has rung and Danny's stoped making faces in the back corner with Tucker; _yesterday's in-class topic was a dream of yours. Many of you chose to interpret it as your dream career._

_We're going to read them all out loud_.

To everyone?

Dash's chest clenches uncomfortably - he'd gone on about how he wanted to open a sports-themed bar, where people could go to watch the game and drink relatively responsibly, where he could serve the food he enjoyed making and people enjoyed eating. Not about joining a professional football team.

Not about what he was expected - and most likely going - to do.

Not what he was wanted to do.

Crippling shyness strikes each student, and Lancer resorts to the tried-and-true routine of calling names at random.

Star Whitsett's paper is short and sweet, an attainable goal of fashion designer for a local boutique. Valerie Grey, her best friend, goes on about a fashion critic in a newspaper column, the modern-day Joan Rivers and the one-person Fashion Police. Kwan Li is excitedly rambling about announcing play-by-plays at sports, whereas another fellow football player bucks the norm and imagines becoming a chef.

Sam Manson rants on advocacy and environmental issues without actually stating a career. Her polar opposite Paulina Sanchez drones at length of modelling and show biz.

It's Danny's turn.

The brunet paints a dream of weightlessness and wonder, of knowing and the unknown. His words glorify the rush of adrenaline from danger, the roar of lift-off and controlling far too many buttons and levers and screens. Imaginings of searching for anything and everything, of chances and curiousity.

Danny reaches for the stars as he wishes to float through space. An astronaut.

He can't know the future . . . but Dash knows Danny will make history someday.

And, for just one little moment, Dash lets himself imagine standing proudly at his side.

Lancer calls on him, and the thought disappears to never be remembered.

Danny listens to his essay, just as enraptured as Dash was listening to his.


	4. Rivalry

In the background, Danny's aware of the weird looks Tucker is giving him. He knows it's odd for to pay _this_ close of attention in class, especially when it's Lancer up at the front.

But, for some reason . . . something about the topic has been calling him. It refuses to release his mind, drawing him in and demanding he pay it heed. There is a difference between listening to the lesson and listening to the topic, of course. It's only the topic that keeps him so enraptured.

He could care less about the lesson. Something about Sherlock Holmes, trying to identify the rival and proving some point about the difficulties when _one encounters complex characters and their relationships between each other, so you must have an open mind – especially when dealing with Mr. Holmes_ and then he tunes Lancer out.

Their relationships between each other, and a subtle rivalry? Rivals certainly have a relationship, Danny muses to himself. Perhaps one simpler than a friendship, or would it be more complicated?

He knows his relationship with Tucker is nowhere near a rivalry. They haven't even known each other for long, but somehow there's a bond there. It's almost as if they _have_ known each other before – for a short moment, he toys with the idea of past lives and reincarnation before giving his head a quick shake to resume his musings (ignoring the increase of confusion in the stare Tucker is levelling at his neck).

For some reason, his mind turns to Dash and how the blond seems to simultaneously hate and _not_ hate him.

It surprises him that he's never wondered why before now, and his eyes narrow as he drags the question to the forefront of his mind.

No matter how many times he runs over how they met, their few interactions, he can't come up with a single cause. The realization hurts more than he expected – Dash hates him for no particular reason?

It may have been the surge of emotion talking – he's never been hated before, let alone for absolutely no reason! – but his mouth quirks into a frown and he lets a bit of his anger seep into his eyes.

Dash hates him?

He'll give him a reason to hate him, then.

His eyes wander over Dash for a moment, examining. Searching, pondering, wondering the best way to push his button, irritate and annoy, get under his skin.

A tanned hand brushes against Dash's letterman's jacket, perfectly manicured fingers curling somewhat possessively around the fabric. He follows the slim arm up to the pink sleeve, and further up to exotic teal eyes that were watching him. Judging him.

Dash's popular, pretty little Hispanic girlfriend, Paulina Sanchez.

One side of his mouth quirks up into the closest he'll ever come to a smirk.

Dash wanted a rival, hmm?

He got one.


End file.
